


Stay And Burn With Me

by PacketofRedApples



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Partial Mind Control, Scratch being Scratch, Scratch has a thing for utter control, Touched by Darkness Alan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 05:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20325571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: Mr. Scratch uses his darkness to touch Alan.





	Stay And Burn With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when Alan talked to Serena that he can offer support with the whole being touched by darkness thing and that he himself has been there and it gets easier with time? I do and I thirst. While we know exactly in canon which scenario he was talking about, I am also a disgusting gremlin man. Chapter two of ToR coming, I promise.
> 
> I'm thinking how to add to this because it feels very bare... I might add, but as of now, I am unsure. It's been sitting on my desktop for like months now.

The typewriter was click-clacking about, every press of the button just as precise, hard enough only for the broken letter ‘E’ that needed replacing long ago. The man at it was not exactly in his element, not in regards to writing, but in regards to the disassociation right at that moment. Overburdened by the lake, Alan wrote, wrote what he was told, by his editor at that time—a woman veiled and mourning, but he didn’t know what nor did he manage to do much about it—his brain could only concentrate at one task at hand.

It is as that continued that the woman left abruptly with no comment. And he didn’t mind, there was no worry or relief, Wake just continued to write, pressing the buttons with little thought as all that he wanted to express flowed out of him.

The old floor creaks, yet he doesn’t stop, adamant to finish this manuscript. The sounds behind him, louder and louder and something approaches… He doesn’t stop.

Fingers gently trail the back of his spine, nape of his neck, before settling into his hair. The writing slows, ever so slightly. Whoever it is, they lean in, resting their stubbly face against Alan’s own. The shift only slightly and incredibly leisurely from the position, to rest their lips against the writer’s neck; at this point, the writer’s speed falls even more. There’s a kiss, light in itself against his cold skin, feeling satisfying and calming to Wake. He doesn’t feel when he stops typing, just like doesn’t even feel anything anymore in this state—the other being, person, or whatever it may be, however, doesn’t falter, nuzzling their nose just under his ear. They stay like that, both in no motion. A stranger and Alan, however, it managed to feel right. Their hand runs up to his chest, resting there, just above his heart.

“Stop that.” Comes a sharp voice, the one of his _editor_. Alan tenses, now more fully aware, more capable to understand what’s happening—but not scared. Unlike the stranger, who jumps back from him abandoning the sweet contact and leaving him cold once more. The floorboards squeak again, tapping atop it as figure runs out of the room. The stranger missing from the scene.

Alan Wake jumps at back at the typewriter then continuing to write.

Yet, for the stranger, it was merely the first taste…

It takes time, a while down the line, but it’s difficult to tell with how the loop of the night continues on and on. Losing track of time was bad enough as is, it’s when the rest becomes required and fatigue finally winning over that Alan can’t help but collapse to his knees when the oil rig is cleared.

There were more of those bastards out there, but he needed a pause. Five minutes, max, just to breathe. Remember he’s alive and that he’s getting closer—somehow closer, ever still.

But familiar hands grab at him, one resting on his heart the other on raising his chin. Alan panics internally, trying to externally actually do something about his double returning like this. An odd familiar sense. But despite his struggle, he only gives leverage for more unsolicited contact and then… a kiss. No testing of water or anything of the sort, it just lets the darkness enter him and push through all that there is inside him. Running his mind to a blind slate, ready for suggestions and puppeteering.

It was that easy.

To be under effect, still think, but be under easy suggestion from the ones above. All it took was a little pressing from the darkness itself, whatever way it should choose.

Regardless of it all, Wake collapses onto the desert floor, writhing in an attempt to shield himself from it, despite it being too late. So he curls up, knowing he’ll be left to his most basic capabilities now.

He wishes he could ask ‘why’ or fight back, but all he can do instead is concentrate his eyes on the other man—grinning and suited.

It’s not what he expects when his hand gently brushes his hair when he leans in and without falter touches their foreheads together.

“I waited so long, to repeat this.” A light chuckle then, filling the small space between them. “So fragile and easy to control… So forgetful afterward. Why should I bother with the theater girl, when you’re so much more fun?”

The last thing that Alan manages to do fully as himself is grit his teeth and grimaced at the other’s comment.

The rest he recalls, but the suggestion is so heavy he doesn’t make the decisions as himself and he knows it. Like… being dragged back to the motel grounds before being released of the grasp, the simple and clearly ordered to murder Emma Sloan. He didn’t want to. But he still finds himself with the wrench in his hand, approaching her. It’s a flurry of what happens next—the screams, the blood splattering and the never stopping hits, that is until they do stop.

The wrench clunk’s to the ground, leaving Alan standing over the dead mechanic with heavy breaths.

Two hands wrap around his waist, pulling him closer and pressing hard into him, leaving little to the imagination. Wake blinks, unsure how to respond, not that he would be able to. 

“You’re such a good boy for me, Al. Aren't you?” Scratch purrs into his ear. It takes seconds before the doppelganger turns the writer around and wipes at the blood on his face, making more of a mess than cleaning it.

"There's so much more we can do now, together." The double announces, grinning for once with an odd sparkle in his eyes. “Zane won’t be here to help, anymore, so you’re all mine.”

Usually, there‘d be a spitting remark here at the double, something to attempt to hurt him... yet, instead, what the results have is a blank stare. He thinks, he can manage to want to fight it, but he can‘t manage to do anything of the like. 

This is where he will find himself to remain, won‘t he? A plaything for the Herald of Darkness.


End file.
